“Biological weapons? Well, they’re these things—um, disease sort of things, I think—and they kill lots of people,” said Newt lamely. “Many lots of people. Very painfully.”

“Really,” said Cain. His eyes were very bright, and very gold.

“Er, yes. Very painfully,” Newt repeated, and coughed. “They’re not nice at all.”

“No, I shouldn’t think so.”

Newt felt that a different topic might be safer, but for some reason nothing came to mind and he rambled desperately to avoid looking at Cain’s intent expression. “See, how it happens is, one person drops a bomb or something in a big crowded area, and all the people there get infected, like, and they go round infecting others and everybody dies. Painfully. Like smallpox, your skin sort of blisters up, I’ve heard, and it’s all very uncomfortable.”

“I’ve heard of smallpox,” said Cain, distantly. “Do go on.”

“Biological weapons are bad,” Newt found himself saying. It seemed to require stressing. “Very bad things, like. They’re illegal. I think. Most of them. For bad nations, anyway.”

“Mmhmm.” Cain dismissed legality blithely; laws, of course, were for the peasantry. “Exactly what are these bombs?”